The Senses
by Ashleopard
Summary: 10 short drabbles about Ron and Hermione becoming more aware of each other featuring sight, smell, hearing, taste, and touch. Rated for snogging scene at the end but otherwise modest. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**UPDATE 5/31/2014: First off, I decided that this will be a two-shot... when I get to writing the second the chapter xP and, while I'm at it, I'd like to apologize for my procrastinating *glares at life* but I promise I am working on being more productive! (If that's what you want to call this...) **

**So I randomly decided to write some Romione drabble based of the five senses – sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste. Not really much more to it… it's all in Hermione's point of view and I'm considering doing another separate story that would be Ron's. But, anyway, enjoy. :) **

**Sight**

Sure, Hermione had seen Ron before, but she'd never given him a good look.

Nearly every day for four years she'd sat next to him at meals, classes, and studying in the Common Room, though she'd never thought twice about the way he slouched at her side, occasionally running his hand through his hair and rolling his eyes at every other word she said. It wasn't until the beginning of fourth year when she began noticing him more.

One day during the History of Magic, Hermione found herself having trouble concentrating on the lesson; she was too captivated on Ron sitting beside her. It wasn't as if he'd made any drastic changes to his appearance, on the contrary he looked as normal as ever, except for the fact that his tie was neatly knotted. He usually wore it slack or undone around his neck. This was evident in the way he kept tugging at it, pulling it looser as the period continued to tick by.

The movement of his hand once again caught Hermione's attention. Without giving a physical reaction Hermione's eyes flicked to where Ron was fidgeting. She watched as his fingers slid beneath where the material was tied and tugged at it once again, messing up the collar of his shirt and further shattering his crisp and clean aura. His large hand continued to run to the back of his neck and into his wild, birds' nest of hair. Personally she'd preferred it when it was shorter, though she doubted Ron would appreciate her input.

He dropped his hand back to the desk, twirling his quill between his fingers before halting his activity to glide the feather end along his jaw bone. She watched it progress across his face, tracing over a mass of freckles and along the side of his nose before traveling down to trace across his lips.

Hermione shivered involuntarily, continuing to watch his lips as the feather dipped to his chin. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips slightly before he sighed deeply and set his hands firmly on the desk. His eyes – sky blue – turned to look at something on the far wall.

She was so caught up in him that the bell signaling the end of class made her jump from her seat, heart beat pounding in her dizzy head. She almost lost her balance when she attempted to stack her books. "You okay?" Ron asked. She glanced at him to see him watching her with slight concern.

"I'm fine," she lied, shoving past him while struggling not to be distracted. "Come on, we'll be late."

**Smell**

Quidditch – the favored sport of Wizards all over the planet. Played professionally, at holidays, birthdays, reunions, and – most well-known to Hermione – as a year-long tournament at Hogwarts.

Hermione had never been a huge fan of Quidditch, not because she despised the game, but she didn't understand the concept of sports as a whole. _Why waste time flying about on brooms when you could be studying? _She'd wondered on multiple occasions. Nonetheless, she attended the games to watch her two best friends (as they _insisted _she got out and had fun every once in a while).

She didn't truly begin appreciating Quidditch until Ron made the team. Actually, it was even before Gryffindor's first game that she began developing a fondness for it for one reason alone. _Practice. _

Every few times she'd go to watch the team practice their roles, and while she promised Harry and Ginny that she'd seen their amazing catches and goals, it was really Ron she was watching. Something about the control he possessed as he rode his broom or the way he would suddenly swoop and make an amazing save wouldn't let her look away from him, not to mention he looked positively dashing in his Quidditch uniform.

But she didn't enjoy Quidditch because it allowed her to get a good look at Ron; no, she could do that any time of the day. What she always looked forward was to _after _practice.

Ron and Harry would enter the Common Room and begin their homework with her, one on either side as they relied fully on her to tell them what they'd missed during their lessons while they dazed off. Ron would sit so close that they would only be six inches apart and the intoxicating scent of his shampoo would overwhelm Hermione. Accompanied by his damp hair and heat from the warm water, Hermione would feel entirely consumed in his scent and presence – what she had decided was the best feeling in the world.

And then he would lean over to point at something in a textbook and his arm would be so close to her body Hermione would struggle to control herself, fighting the urge to let herself be wrapped in his warm arms and masculine scent.

It was usually Harry's voice that brought her out of her trance, probing for the answer to one of the questions on his homework. Begrudgingly, Hermione would pull herself back to reality, saving the memory of Ron for later that night as she was falling asleep; a thought that promised blissful dreams.

**Hearing**

When Hermione arrived at the Burrow before sixth year, she was greeted by a very eager Ron. For her entire first day, they spent the time outside near the pond that was about a mile from the Burrow and talked, plotting what they would tell Harry and when they would leave for the Horcrux hunt and whatnot. Despite the gruesome subject, Hermione rather enjoyed the chance to be alone with Ron, no matter the fact that nothing more happened than their shoulders and hips brushing against each other are every so often when they would move.

On the second day Hermione woke up early, before Ginny or anyone else, she was pretty sure. Pulling on a nightdress she snuck out of Ginny's room and tiptoed up the stairs to the bathroom on the fourth floor.

Before she could enter the bathroom Hermione was distracted by a sound from an upper floor – the attic room, Ron's room. Unable to quench her curiosity, Hermione silently climbed the final staircase and pressed her ear to Ron's door. She could hear _Magic Works _by the Weird Sisters playing quietly on the radio, the words muted through the wall but loud enough for Hermione to make out. She didn't find anything extraordinary about the situation until she heard another voice begin singing – one not from the radio.

Hermione almost didn't recognize the voice, though she knew Ron was the only person who could be in the room. Her jaw gaped and she pressed harder into the wood, trying to engrave the sound into her brain. While his singing wasn't in tune with the band nor did it match the rhythm perfectly, it was deep and rich in a way that made butterflies erupt in her stomach. The lyrics of the romantic song he was singing to didn't help with that.

As Ron sang along to the lyrics about dancing while there was still a chance, Hermione let herself slip into daydream, imagining him singing the words quietly into her ear as they danced, his breathtakingly beautiful voice filling her completely with his virile post-Quidditch scent. The thought alone left her dizzy with giddiness and craving his company more than she ever had before. _Maybe someday, _she allowed herself to hope. _Maybe someday._

** Touch**

If being stuck at Grimmauld Place was painful before fifth year, it was hell now.

For four years Hermione had kept her hormones in check: never letting them become so demanding that she was distracted from a life-or-death situation at hand. Not once had she succumb to the adrenaline and testosterone that begged her to toss aside her common sense and find release for the built up tension she experienced when in Ron's presence. Not a single time.

But living in such close quarters with Ron took its toll on Hermione. Most of the time she felt as though her brain was stewing in the chemicals – slowly aiming to drive her insane with need to see Ron's lanky build beneath his too small shirt, inhale his pungent scent and hear his powerful if not scratchy voice.

Yet once she got the slightest taste, it was all she could do to hold herself back. She wanted to be near him, to know what it felt like to have his body pressed firmly to hers, perhaps shoving her into a wall and kissing her roughly while tangling his fingers in her wild curly hair.

Hermione refused to let herself think of such things in Ron's company; however, it was the only thing she could think around him just as well. This made a chore of plotting their way into the Ministry with Harry as she found herself sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Ron, trying to do anything but look in his direction or breathe in his scent (both of which she failed on numerous occasions).

She stared at the map, sifting through thick clouds of lust-filled tension just to understand what was happening. When she surfaced, Hermione found herself staring at the perfect entrance. "There!" she said simultaneously with Ron, both of them setting their hands on the same spot on the map.

Time seemed to stand still. Harry spoke but his voice was thousands of miles away as Hermione's hand lay flat against the map, covered by Ron's much larger, calloused hand. The temperature had gone up at least ten degrees in the room and a lightning storm seemed to be growing in intensity in Hermione's head, occasionally causing sparks to spasm along her nerve endings, straight up and down to where her and Ron's hands were connected.

Hermione's gaze shot to look up at Ron who was already watching her, his freckled face pale and eyes nearing a shade of sapphire blue. His brow was furrowed in a way that erased any of Hermione's doubts that he didn't like her in the same way she liked him. She bit her lip in nervous excitement.

"Anyway," Harry's voice broke a barrier, reminding Hermione of the looming war and hunt. Pulling her hand away from Ron's, she continued to pretend to listen and participate in scouting the Ministry.

** Taste**

Hermione ran her hands over Ron's back, digging her nails into his bare skin. She moaned as his hands moved beneath her shirt and scratched her sides, arching her torso up into his hard, defined chest. "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours," he whispered gruffly, his hot breath painting the words across her earlobe before he gently nipped it.

Hermione laughed and squealed when he scratched her sides again, gently pushing him over so he was no longer on top of her. Satisfied that his lips were once again free, she put good use to them by sealing them in a heated kiss. Ron seemed rather eager for the new angle as he pulled her closer by her waist, running his hands gently over her soft skin.

Hermione was sure she'd never been happier. Her entire life could be categorized in the stages of her love for Ron Weasley and now she finally had him. She could watch him intently without being questioned. She could bury her nose in the nape of his neck and let herself be consumed by the scent that was entirely, purely 'Ron'. She was treated to a song on special occasions and received touches ranging from gentle and affectionate to hot and passionate.

And, to add to that, the final sense she'd never thought she'd have the privilege to know. His _taste. _

Taste was probably one of the most varying things about Ron Weasley. Sure his scent changed according to what shampoo he used and his touches changed with the mood, but none of them could compare to the ever constant shift of his taste.

As she kissed him she could taste spearmint from when he brushed his teeth before bed. Rolling on top of him, she let her lips wander to his neck, tasting the slightest trace of salt lying beneath layers of water and body wash. Her lips migrated upwards and sucked lightly on his earlobe, tasting more of a sweet and salty concoction than she could in other places.

She pulled back, gazing down at his pale white skin dotted with hundreds of freckles – like foam on Butterbeer sprinkled with cinnamon. She licked her lips, wishing she could drink it from his skin and taste all of him at once. _Another day, _she promised herself. _You'll have a long time to cherish it all._

**Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! If you did, feel free to leave a review… we writer's live for them… Anyway, have a nice day. :) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! So, second and final installment of this story; exciting! **

**Where the last chapter was more in-depth (Hermione being Hermione and all) I've tried to make this one more… well, Ron. It's more happy happy happy (apart from that angsty bit near the end…) and, while it may not state each directly, it does involve each of the listed senses (though I must apologize… one or two of these got a few more than five hundred words… but it's short and sweet and that's what matters!). **

**Anyway, go on, have a read. I dare you (?). **

**Sight **

Ron wouldn't have been able to concentrate on his homework if the spirit of great Godric Gryffindor himself had descended from the heavens and given him the answers. No, with the Yule Ball growing dangerously close, all he could do was worry about getting a date. Even Harry – the great _Harry Potter _– was having trouble; what did that mean for Ron? Surely there was some girl that wasn't already going…

But the question was who. Lavender Brown, Cho Chang, even Ginny had a date! Ron was certain there was someone who wasn't already taken, but the answer seemed to be on the tip of his tongue. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became.

"Ron!"

Ron was brought back to the Gryffindor Common Room by Hermione's indignant snap. He scowled up at her, not feeling up for another telling-off about his grades or the importance of homework and school. "What now, Hermione?"

Hermione glared at him where he was laying on his stomach beside her, an empty parchment in front of him. She glanced from him to his homework and back again, apparently unamused. "You need to get to work on that Charms essay. It's due the day after tomorrow and I will not stand to have you doing the entire thing last minute again."

"I'm working on it," Ron muttered, turning the quill over in his hand. Hermione, seemingly exhausted from the act of lecturing him, sighed and returned to the book she'd been reading.

Ron would blame the late hour and desperation for his next thoughts, but he finally seemed to get a grip of what had been evading him. _Hermione's a girl… and as far as I know, she hasn't been asked…_

_ Don't be stupid, Ron, _he reprimanded himself. _You're considering asking _Hermione _to the Yule Ball?! That's barmy! She isn't really a girl. Doesn't act like one. Or look like one, for that matter._

To prove his point, Ron glanced at Hermione from the corner of his eyes. As he watched, she sat up on her knees, straightening her back from her hunched position. Ron blinked in confusion. No, she didn't even… _oh._

Hermione's arms stretched over her head, her eyes closing and mouth opening as she yawned widely. In that single action, his gaze was drawn to her chest as if it had a sign and arrow pointing to it. _Oh, wow, okay… maybe she is a girl…_

Her arms dropped back down, making her breasts less noticeable, but Ron knew he wouldn't be able to unsee it. His eyes flicked up to catch her face, feeling as if he were looking at her in a whole new light. _Come to think of it, her skin looks very soft… and warm. Have her eyes always been that brown? I'm pretty sure her lips weren't that full before and… bloody hell, there's no way her hair was that untidy. Could lose my hand in there…_

Ron, alarmed by the sudden desire to run his hand through Hermione's unruly hair, turned all his attention back to his paper. _No, _he told himself strictly. _That was… no. So it turns out Hermione's a girl, but that means nothing. Besides, she'd never want to go with me, anyway._

**Smell**

"Morning, Hermione."

"Good morning, Ron."

Hermione took her seat next to Ron, setting the book she was carrying with her on the table beside her as she loaded her plate with a scoop of scrambled eggs. Ron, hoping to make friendly conversation while they were still waiting for Harry to come down, leaned closer to see what book she'd chosen today. "_Pride and Prejudice?_" he asked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's a Muggle book," Hermione explained, not looking up from her meal. "I thought it'd be nice to read something for fun while school is still getting back into gear so I borrowed my father's copy. Quite an interesting book once you get into it."

"Can I have a look?"

"Well… I don't see why not." Hermione handed him the book, eyeing it warily as Ron flipped it over in his hands. "Careful, Ron, that's an old copy."

"Relax, 'Mione," Ron said, holding the book an inch from his face to pretend he was inspecting it thoroughly. He pursed his lips. "Ah, yes, it would seem that this book _looks _in good condition." He held it to his ear, flipping the pages. "_Sounds _pretty good, too."

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, unable to hide a hint of amusement. Ron felt his heart lighten. She always seemed to be a bit more easygoing with him when Harry wasn't around.

"I am thoroughly inspecting the book." Ron flipped it closed again and held the front cover up to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for affect. "It smells old," he observed, smiling as he heard Hermione trying to stifle her laughter. "It also smells…" He sniffed again, surprised to catch a whiff of… was that… the perfume he'd given her for Christmas? "Um… perfume?"

"Oh…" Ron looked up to catch Hermione blushing as she stared at the book, seemingly horrified. "Yes, that would be perfume. I – uh – I don't know how… the book was on my bed the whole time. Not quite sure how the perfume got all the way over-"

She stopped abruptly, her face burning scarlet and eyes widening. "Sorry," she said, though Ron wasn't sure what she was apologizing for. She took the book away from him and Ron could've sworn he caught a hint of the sweet fragrance on her wrist as well. "If you don't mind I'd like to do some reading before class."

Ron would've objected hadn't Harry decided it was the perfect moment to join them. Ron scooted over as Harry sat between him and Hermione, frowning past his best mate at the flustered bushy-haired nerd who was reading _Pride and Prejudice _upside down.

_ She's using my perfume… what does that mean?_

**Hearing**

Hermione Granger knew a lot of things, but one thing she didn't know was that she talked in her sleep.

Ron had figured this out in third year; right after he and Hermione had started speaking again. It hadn't been considerably late but, as Ron would soon find out, Hermione had been taking extra classes. Between the stress from completing her homework and her relief to have Ron helping her with on the Buckbeak case, it wasn't hard to believe when she fell asleep on the floor in the Common Room at only 7:30. He and Harry had been confused when Hermione had started mumbling incoherent sentences, only to become amused upon realizing she was sleep-talking.

After Ron had ended it with Lavender, Hermione seemed much more willing to do things for him; she began helping him with his homework again, talking to him, sitting next to him at meals, and even had the decency to stay up late with him one night and help him with a difficult DADA essay which he had previously destroyed with improper grammar and spelling.

"There," she said around a yawn. "Much better, though you have yet to write your conclusion."

"Thanks, Hermione, you're a life saver!" He took his now clean essay from Hermione and picked up his quill. He paused, hovering over the parchment. "Er… conclusion…"

Hermione laughed quietly, almost a giggle. "'In conclusion,'" she said, poking Ron's hand to tell him he was supposed to be copying her words down. He began writing obediently. "'When facing a Dementor…'" she scooted closer to Ron and he glanced up at her. Her eyes were droopy and, as he watched, they closed, only to bat open a second later. "'An appropriate method' – Ron, you're writing off the page."

Ron tore his gaze from her to find he was at the end of the parchment, his previous sentence half written onto the one above it. He muttered an apology and gulped as he felt a soft weight on his shoulder. "'An appropriate method of removal would be…'"

Her voice was soft and sounded far away. He glanced down to see she had rested her head on his shoulder, her eyelids drooping and blinks becoming further apart, each one leaving her less awake. "'The Patronus Charm.'"

Ron, afraid of making any movement that would jerk her awake, wrote the final three words down slowly. "Finished," he whispered hoarsely. Hermione's only response was a soft hum and deep breath as she settled against Ron, hugging his arm with one of hers and pulling her legs up onto the couch.

Confused and a little shocked, Ron hardly dared to breathe; afraid the slightest movement would rouse her. _Bloody hell she… she's sleeping on me…_ Despite his nerves and rigid posture, Ron managed a small smile. She nuzzled his shoulder and sighed a soft, inaudible word. Ron, curious and excited to hear what she was saying, listened intently.

A minute or two must have passed before she spoke again. He could almost make out something along the lines of 'Quidditch' and 'homework' before she said, in a much clearer voice, "Mmhmm, chocolate's lovely," to which Ron very nearly began laughing at. Another moment went by in silence until she said something that immediately had his attention: his name. "Ron…"

At first, he'd thought she'd woken up. Realizing she was still asleep, his attention peaked. She pulled herself closer to him and said it again. _I wonder if she's dreaming about me. _He thought, a smile spreading from ear-to-ear across his face. _I wonder if it's as good as the dreams I have about her._

"Me too," she whispered. _Me too what? _Ron wondered briefly. _What's she trying to tell me?_

When she woke up a few minutes later, Ron assured her she had only dozed off for a few seconds, figuring she'd take it better that way. When Hermione apologized, he waved it away, saying he'd have done the same. "Sorry, again," she said as she headed up to the Dormitories, her face beat red. "Goodnight, Ron."

"Goodnight, Hermione." _You can lean on me anytime…_

**Touch**

Ron was angry.

He wasn't quite sure where to direct his anger, but he had a pretty good lot aimed straight at that filthy Bellatrix LeStrange. And Draco and Greyback, of course, but mostly Bellatrix.

He was also angry at himself. It was all his fault. There had to be a way – if only he'd stopped Harry from saying _his _name, they wouldn't have been caught. Hermione wouldn't have been tortured. She wouldn't be lying in the bed in front of him, pale despite the blood and scratches on her skin, silent apart from the occasional whimper of pain, still for all but the slight rise and fall of her chest.

Ron, casting a glance behind him to make sure they were alone, very gently set his hand on top of Hermione's where it lay limply on the mattress. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand as lightly as he could, wishing there was something he could do to save her from their fate. She wasn't supposed to be here, being pulled back from the verge of insanity. She was meant to be at school, badgering people into doing their homework and dragging innocent souls off to study in the library.

Ron cupped her hand and very slowly brought it up to him, making sure she didn't show any signs of pain. Confident that she was okay, he gazed carefully at her hand, small and beautiful compared to his large, dirty one. He grimaced, seeing where her clothing was torn to engrave the word 'MUDBLOOD' into her skin. He didn't dare try to make any sort of contact with what he was sure was going to be a scar and instead pressed his forehead to the hand he held, fighting back the wetness in his eyes. "They'll never hurt you again, Hermione," he whispered, choking on an obstruction in his throat. "I won't let them."

**Taste**

"Bloody hell, 'Mione! Are you sure this is a good idea?"

She giggled in response, which Ron took as a firm but reluctant _No_.

"Come on, Ron! It'll be fun. See, here are some Chocolate Wands down here."

"What about my job!"

"And you say I worry too much."

Ron had to admit, there was a certain forbidden feeling about the whole situation that drew him to it like moths to a light. There was that, and his girlfriend pinning him against the wall in the dark closet of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She had one of the chocolate wands in her hand, looking up at Ron expectantly with glowing brown eyes. _Well, I'll give it to her, she really does try to make the best of all our time together._

Of course Ron didn't object. He kissed her roughly, surprised to taste she'd already eaten off the wand. Delighted and feeling as though he'd found heaven, Ron eagerly kissed her, helping her with any remaining chocolate she'd had yet to consume. _Who'd a thought? Hermione and chocolate, at once! I'm the damn luckiest git on the planet. _

When the chocolate was gone, Ron bent to take what remained from Hermione's hand, effectively stealing it in a lapse of concentration on her part. "Hey!" she yelped. "_Ron, _unfair!"

Ron grinned cheekily as he chewed the chocolate, cheeks puffed ridiculously. He didn't have to say anything for her to get an idea of how to get back what was rightfully hers, and they were snogging again, an excitement only chocolate could extract engulfing them.

When they finally broke apart, Ron smiled down at Hermione. She had a little bit of chocolate smeared on her cheek. "You've got chocolate on your cheek," he laughed, helping her out by licking it off ("oh – _my, _Ron!"). "Didja know?"

Hermione indignantly huffed and attempted to appear sophisticated. It proved to be a difficult feat, given she had a red spot licked into her cheek where chocolate had previously been. "Well, I wouldn't be concerned about that, given the chocolate all over your nose."

"Wait, _what?_ Hermione, there's no chocolate on my-"

Ron sighed.

_Just when you think you know Hermione Granger, she does something like lead you to the back room of a public shop, snog you while eating chocolate, and rub the melted remnants of said chocolate all over your nose. _

But Ron could only laugh as he watched Hermione – prim-and-proper Hermione – attempting to master the perfect technique to lick chocolate off his face. After a long moment of shushing and a few tentative licks, Hermione began laughing. "Oh, god, I'm sorry… you've got chocolate all over your nose now…"

Ron snorted and kissed her, the kiss softer than the others they'd exchanged that day. "It's okay, chocolate isn't the worst thing I could have on my face," he said, smiling.

Hermione kissed him again. "I love you, Ron."

"I love you too."

**Well, what can I say?**

**I tried not to be to detailed or specific with that last bit there… lord knows I could've gone grossly in depth and scared away the innocent half of the fandom. But I think it had a few sweet parts even if it did get a little off topic here and there. **

**But what do you think? As always, feel free to review and tell me what a wonderful, amazing, smart, amazing person I am. Wait, you don't think that…? Oh well, I want to hear it anyway!**

**Thank you for your patience with me and my infrequent updates and have a positively **_**delightful **_**day!**


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